Axis: Bold As Love
by Zamelot
Summary: See that girl over there? No, there... The small, defenseless one? The one who looks like a china doll? Look out for her, man. She's your one way ticket to insanity and a step away from civilization. Oh, yeah. And one toward the law. [set in 1967 America]
1. Foxey Lady

_hey, this is supposed to take place in the summer of 1967 in San Fransisco, so I'm using a lot of slang from the sixties and all. Also, I'm very unfamiliar with all the new writers here b/c I haven't been reading Tekken fics for a while. I feel very incoherent right now, so if there's anything you can't understand... lemme know through a review. If there's any questions on the slang, let me know and I'll put a sort of dictionary up on the second chapter. This is my first attempt on an original Tekken story... whoo! _

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Chapter One: Foxey Lady

He couldn't take his eyes off her. He followed her every step, every gesture, and every expression that passed through her face. He noted all the people she exchanged words with, all the people she acknowledged, passed by, and disappeared with. She seemed to do a lot of disappearing.

"This party sucks, man," Hwoarang lit up a cigarette, and smeared his clammy, sweating palms over his jeans. Jin tore his eyes away from the girl (just as she reappeared) and gazed lazily at his friend beside him. Hwoarang took another drag at his cigarette, and then offered it to Jin, who refused.

"You see that girl over there, man?"

Hwoarang looked up. "Where?" he asked, the cancer stick dangling from his mouth. Jin pointed to the dark haired girl, chatting gaily with a blonde haired man. Hwoarang wrinkled up his nose. "Aw, c'mon, man! A flower child? You get involved with her, and you'll be dead from an OD by the end of the week."

Jin chuckled looking over the girl's long blue jeans with the red bandana tied around her knee, her multicolored wide sleeved silk shirt bearing the name Janis Joplin in light green and yellow, and a blue band around her forehead with a Korean Morning Glory on the side. He shrugged. "Maybe. Wanna go talk to her?"

Hwoarang leered at her. "Dunno, man. She seems pretty absorbed in her conversation with that blonde cat over there,"

Jin rolled his eyes and stepped away from the dark corner where he and Hwoarang stood. He had to mingle or something. Forget the fact that everyone was incoherent or drunk; he needed something to do—even at the risk of getting stoned for life. "Tch. Please. A blonde Paul McCartney wannabe. I'm bookin',"

He started off toward the back near the pool where she hung out, lip flapping with the blonde dude. He reached her just as she was pushing a lock of her dark hair back over her shoulder. Something from behind her hair caught the light of the red and orange setting sun, causing a sudden sharp glare in his direction. He figured it to be a necklace or something of the sort.

"Excuse me," he interjected quietly. She snapped her head to him abruptly looking at him as if she'd had too much caffeine. "Hey, I couldn't help but notice from back there that you…like Janis Joplin," he may as well start off with what all them hippies loved: rock'n'roll.

"Oh, yeah, man," she replied, turning away from her previous conversation and looking eagerly at him. Her eyes seemed mildly unfocused... Well, at least she was talking. "Janis, Jimi, Jim…all them guys… real gone cats."

The man beside her chuckled, "Yeah, but don't forget the Beatles," he had a heavy British accent that reminded Jin slightly _of_ Paul McCartney. He straightened his blue jacked and pulled the girl in a loose embrace. "Those guys are real boss. Catch ya, Pix,"

"Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band! Later, Steve,"

The girl turned back to Jin and folded her hands behind her back, leaning forward slightly giving her the image of a younger girl. "So, having fun, man?"

Jin shrugged; mildly amused at the energy she projected. "Sure. If people interacted more than drank," he looked back at her. Was she drunk?

"Do you got any stuff?" she inquired abruptly.

Jin looked at her awkwardly. Hwoarang was right. Get involved with a flower child, and be dead of an OD by the end of the week. He was about to feint ignorance and ask what in the blazes she was talking about when—

" 'And I saw her standing there'—Hey, Jin, man, my buddy, my cool cat gone wild! Aren't you gonna introduce me to your raven haired friend?"

Jin rolled his eyes at Hwoarang's sudden giddiness. The girl giggled and looked interestedly at Hwoarang. Jin wrapped an arm around Hwoarang's neck and forced him into a headlock.

"This cat here is Hwoarang," Jin began as Hwoarang struggled from his hold. "A total drag and badass. Don't bother with him--"

"Who are you calling a drag, Panty Waist?" Hwoarang snarled, finally breaking free, but stumbling backwards at the same time.

Jin ignored him. "And I'm Jin Kazama. Sorry, I didn't quiet catch what you were saying before."

The girl's eyes suddenly went in and out of focus. She glanced momentarily toward a small group of metal heads then returned her attention to Jin. "The punch's spiked," she mumbled. She glanced down at the cup in her left hand and poured the rest of it into the pool. No one was swimming in it anyway. Not unless they fell in. Or were thrown in. "I asked if you knew where the stuff was."

"N—No. Sorry. We don't know," Jin replied quickly.

The girl smiled sweetly, her brown eyes lighting up. "It's okay. There's no need to keep it all to yourself,"

Jin shook his head. "Naw, sorry. I seriously don't know."

She shrugged and turned back to the metal heads. "Oh, well. I'll catch you old fashioned boys later," she said waving. She began to walk away toward the small group at the other end of the yard, when Hwoarang called back to her.

"You got a name, sugar?"

"Xiaoyu, honey!"

She then ran off across the yard, disappearing into the crowds of people that enveloped her small frame, causing her to disappear. The crowd seemed to grow thicker and the sky darker once she had vanished. The sun had completed its cycle around the earth and left the sky to the envious moon who is already sick and pale with grief.

"Some girl, huh?" Hwoarang asked attempting to stir up conversation. The fireflies were moving in. Yellow and green against the deep blue sky. Jin didn't answer. "Well, she was right about one thing."

"Oh," Jin broke from his trance of staring where Xiaoyu disappeared. "What's that?"

"The punch has been spiked,"

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Hey, review will ya? Please? 


	2. All Along The Watchtower

Ehh... gworsh this isn't doing that well. At least there are people who do like it. Thanks to all of yous! This is sort of a Jimi Hendrix tribute.

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Chapter Two: All Along the Watchtower

"Where the hell were you last night?"

Xiaoyu strode the length of her room, barefoot, while placing on her long dangling crucifix earrings. She stopped in front of her bureau, picked up an Aztec medallion, and placed it around her neck. She then took a seat in front of her mirror and began to weave flowers into her hair.

"Don't flip your wig. I was out partying last night, daddy-o!"

"Out partying?" Lei slammed a fist against her open poster covered door and stormed toward her as she gently entwined a dandelion behind her ear. "What were you doing 'out partying' last night? You told me you were going over Miharu's!"

"Which I did," she steadily finished her hair with a forget-me-not, then buttoned up her thin, tie-dye shirt. "We hung out until seven last night, then I got called up to some house party."

"_Whose house party?_" Xiao rolled her eyes and buckled closed her bronze belt over her red vinyl pants.

"I don't know. But a lot of guys gave me free stuff," she stood up and picked up her novel, The Hound of Baskeville, which she hadn't quiet finished yet, but had to return to the library.

Lei placed a hand over his forehead. "Please, Xiao… please tell me you aren't doing anything illegal," he moved his hand down over his mouth, starring at her.

"I'm on my way down to the library. I wanna pick up The Bell Jar. Then I'm gonna go to this little Indian shop I discovered. I wanna buy moccasins."

Lei stared at her, tapping his heel lightly against the wood of the floor. "Then come straight home. No late night partying or I'll send the entire police station after you," he paused. "You know I will."

Xiao adjusted the red, black, and turquoise rings on her fingers. "I don't know what time Ill be home tomorrow night," she began as if he hadn't said anything. "This guy I met asked me out this morning when I ran into him at the newsstand to pick up your paper," she started her walk outside the room, still barefoot.

"I was up until one this morning waiting for you. What time did you get home?"

"Two," she called. It looked to Lei as if she wasn't wearing any shoes that day. He slowly followed her down the hall. "Don't wait up for me!" she yelled, heading out of the apartment.

Lei sighed and tugged at the long sleeves of his light blue shirt. He couldn't help but worry for her. She was this tiny barely sixteen-year-old girl who looked more ten than anything else. She hung out with exotic crowds, dressed eccentrically, listened to outrageous music…all he could do was hope she didn't get into a bind bigger than she could handle. He couldn't control her, yet he was the best cop on the west coast; how ironic. Oh, well. It was Sunday. She'd be back in time for the Ed Sullivan Show. There was something about pandas on that had an iron grasp on her attention.

He took a seat on the couch, propping his feet up on the glass coffee table, and flipping on the television. He figured he could catch a rerun of Rebel Without A Cause and a quick nap before a tragic reunion later on in the evening. Including a meeting with his new employer. But for now he'd relax, and watch James Dean and Natalie Wood dance across the television screen.

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This is supposed to set off the issues for the rest of the story. Review please? 


	3. Crosstown Traffic

I really hope I didn't sound ungrateful about the reviews I already revieced, because, they were awesome! I was just having a low self esteem moment...

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Chapter Three: Crosstown Traffic

His eyes slowly took in her ripped and frayed bellbottoms, her wide quarter sleeved frilly shirt, leather moccasins, and red bandana tied around her head with the tail ends falling casually over her shoulder and mingling with her dark tresses. She stood calmly on the narrow semi-crowded sidewalk, shuffling contently through the rows of records set up before her. She seemed to be mumbling Janis Joplin's Summertime under her breath as she fingered through the albums.

Jin stood an aisle away, pretending to be engrossed with the Doors' albums, but kept her in the corner of his eye. Eventually, starring at picture after picture of Jim Morrison for near half an hour began to sicken him. He replaced their self-titled album and moved so that she was still within eye and ear shot. He then turned and found himself facing every Beatle album known to man. Please Please Me lay to his right, A Hard Day's Night to his left, Help! Along the front row, and Sgt. Pepper's everywhere else.

In his own opinion, one can stand looking at the Beatles for so long before being driven to the point of insanity. He supposed that that was the reason why there were so many fanatical girls. Had they decided to create their own cult one day… he wouldn't be surprised. As long as they didn't ask for his membership. In his boredom, he found himself debating whether Xiao was a Beatlemaniac or not. He glanced over at her just as she lifted up Bob Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited record and placed it under her arm. She repeated this process several more times with the Grateful Dead and the Who before Jin thought it to be safe to wander back to her.

"All set?" he asked as she replaced the Mamas and Papas back on the shelf.

Before answering, she tucked Van Morrison under her arm and returned the Rolling Stones' 'Satanic Majesties Request' while mumbling something more to herself than him about it being their worst album yet. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, and then nodded absently at him. "Just about…yeah, they don't have Led Zeppelin. Let me go pay."

She made her way toward the red tent, which was serving as the stall. At the counter, a tall, slim, dark Brazilian man awaited her approach. As she reached him, he greeted her with a shy smile and soft hello. He had a gaunt, narrow face, deep-set brown eyes, and long dreadlocks. As Jin moved closer, the man laughed aloud at Xiao's "forgive me for my ignorance, but do you know Jimi Hendrix?" Jin assumed that the man found it amusing because Xiao looked younger than she was. Years younger. She could probably sneak into restaurants and get free meals.

Jin placed himself behind Xiao as the man placed her purchases in a black plastic bag. He then proceeded to wait as Xiao fished her money out of her pockets. Like the Brazilian man, Jin watched on, amused, and half expecting her to set down lint, paper clips, and candy wrappers after she placed down four pennies.

"How much does she owe?" Jin asked the man.

The man grinned, his brown eyes glinting, and the black sunglasses sitting atop his head glaring in the sun's afternoon light. "For you, man, thirty five dollars,"

Jin nodded and pulled out his wallet, noting the man's smooth deep voice and heavy foreign accent. He tossed the bills onto the counter, grabbed the bag, and snagged Xiao's elbow as she continued to dig in her pockets.

After a few moments, Xiao realized that they were no longer at the record stall and allowed Jin to navigate her through the streets.

"Riddle me this, Kazama," she said after a few seconds of silence. He had given her her bag and had an arm wrapped loosely around her waist with his right hand gently pressing on the small of her back and pushing her forward.

Jin narrowly avoided a walking/kissing couple moving aimlessly in their direction and then looked back at Xiaoyu. "What's that?" He prayed to every god he'd heard of that she didn't ask of anything involving 'stuff'.

"What are your thoughts on the Vietnam War?"

Jin snorted and almost tripped on himself. "I highly doubt that you'd like to hear my political views," he began to steer her toward the park eager to show her the sunset. Whether they made it there before hand or made it there at all was questionable—with all the hippies walking around and trapping them. "I'd rather ask…why are you a hippie? And do you seriously wash your hair in mayonnaise?"

"Naw, I prefer to wash it in brew—kidding—I don't consider myself a hippie," she continued quickly. "Hippies are all into that free love, peace, anti-war, and crap, but me…I don't consider myself a peaceful person."

Jin turned his head to look at her slowly just as someone threw a clear bag filled with what looked like caramel candies straight past, and grazing his head. "Oh? Lay it one me,"

"For me, 'hippie' is a fashion statement. I dress how I wanna dress, I listen to, and I believe we should stop communism before it starts. Watch, one day, man, China'll be the only communist nation left in the world. And it'll _suck_. Man, am I glad to be outta there."

Jin grinned, tugging lightly at the frills on her shirt. "I get the feeling you're for the war in Vietnam,"

"A hundred percent, man. South Vietnam hasn't got a chance without us," she replied as he led he into the park. He all but dragged her up the hill and back toward the big oak tree, while dodging people in the way and trying not decapitate her arm when pulling her through the ridiculously large crowds of people camping out. The moment they arrived there, the sun, as if on cue, began to dip down beyond the horizon in a current of red, orange, pink, lavender, and yellow. Jin was delighted to hear her marveled gasp and watch as the sun splayed various colors across her captivated face.

A ghost of a smile fluttered across his lips. She reminded him somewhat of his late mother; her carefree outlook on life, her love of simplicity, her innocence, her love for drugs…

"…lost you didn't I?"

Jin snapped from his daze and was caught completely off guard when he found her directly in his face. He flinched instinctively and tried to move away hurriedly, but resulted in smashing his forehead against hers. She yelped in both pain and surprise, falling backward onto the grass.

"Jumpy, aren't we?" she asked jokingly.

Jin extended his hand and began to help her to her feet. Her hand was small and slender compared to his. Her nails were naturally cut and had a bit of nail polish left at the cuticles. He half expected her hand to be soft, smooth, and gentle, like most of the girls he knew, but was taken a back to find it to be hard, calloused, and bony. He made a mental note to find out what she did in her spare time.

He pulled her upright and she almost stumbled into his chest. She caught herself, her hand still in his, and brushed a few loose strands of hair from her eyes. She looked shyly at their interlaced hands and tugged.

"If it's cool with you, I'd like my hand back,"

Maybe it was the chill of the summer twilight, the purple, pink, and red lights reflecting off her hair and face, or maybe the fact that she seemed so small and vulnerable. "Forget about the stuff," he uttered breathlessly, pulling her suddenly into his arms. He felt like a total candyass for being the one to bring the taboo subject up, but she reminded him too much of the one thing he cared about.

"So you do have it," she said, a hint of excitement in her voice. She started to pull him down the hill and maybe toward the street, but he was powerless to stop her. He followed behind her, mechanically.

Abruptly, he stopped her at the gates with: "My mother died of an overdose."

She, however, didn't seem to care. "That's why you have to be careful—and not OD."

Jin had the sudden urge to slap her; shake her; shove some sense into that pretty head of hers, because that's all it was: pretty. "Don't you get that that stuff can kill you?" he fought hard from letting the anger reach his voice.

They were standing on the curb now and Xiao was looking at him lazily over her shoulder. "In the words of Janis Joplin "…If you get it today, you don't wear it tomorrow, man! Cause you don't need it…. Tomorrow never happens, man."

Before he could retort, a bright red Mercedes just happened to Brody Out right next to them. Dread crept through every limb on his body as Hwoarang rolled down the passenger window and grinned at Xiao, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Heeey, sugar! Xiao, right?"

Jin tried to get Hwoarang to bug off. "Hwoarang—"

"Yeah, yeah. What's happenin', brother man?"

Hwoarang shut off the engine and walked out leaning against the car door closest to Xiao. He held a packet of cigarettes in one hand and stood looking at her like the groovy cat he was. "What's up, pix? I see you at that party last night, some guy comes up and says he's got something for you, and you _ditch me?_ What's up with that, huh?"

"Sorry, man," she said quickly. "But Jin here said he's got some stuff for me, too."

Jin jerked in her direction in sheer surprise. "What? I didn't—"

Hwoarang snorted. "Jin's got stuff? Pfft. Let me tell ya, Pix. I got stuff…. And if you really want it, you'll come with me."

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I tried. Please review... please? 


	4. Voodoo Child

_bleh... this chapter didn't wanna be written. the ending on this chapter is probably confusing... ah, well... oh! error on the previous chap. Santaic Majesties blah blah was released actually in _December _of '67. My bad. Ignore that. _

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Chapter Four: Voodoo Child

"Has it seriously been twenty years, Lei?"

Lei smiled weakly, standing patiently in the foyer as Kazuya descended the staircase. The man hadn't changed: he was still the handsome mystery man with the devilish charm that Lei remembered had attracted Jun to him years ago.

"Nineteen…actually,"

Kazuya reached the bottom and stretched out his hand to shake Lei's in a polite, yet cold, manner. A smile played lightly over Kazuya's stern yet well-shaped mouth. Unconsciously, Lei envied him. He matched up to every cliché that made up a woman's fantasy man: mysterious, deep-set, bedroom eyes; thick black hair and brows; a lean, muscular frame complete with broad shoulders, and, of course, not to mention tall, dark, and handsome.

"My son is currently out gallivanting with his new girlfriend," Kazuya informed him, starting out of the foyer and to the dinning room. "The other night he couldn't stop _talking_ about her. He kept saying how her dark tresses held the November midnight sky complete with every constellations and that her eyes reminded him of… well…"

Lei snorted, though tried not to make it too evident. "Excuse my ignorance," he began, ignoring the fact that Kazuya had broken off, "but I never imagined _any _offspring of Kazuya Mishima's to be…romantic."

Kazuya smirked over his shoulder in a somewhat melancholy way as he opened the large oak doors leading into the magnificent dinning room. A gold and porcelain chandelier hung low from the ceiling and hovered over the long mahogany table.

"I'd say he was adopted—if he didn't look so much like me," he took a seat at the head of the table and directed Lei to take the seat on the other end. "And I don't know if I should approve of this girl he's been obsessing over; she's a hippie."

Lei chuckled, lacing his fingers beneath his chin. "The approval of a father…why does that sound so familiar?" Lei couldn't help but triumph over the distracted look that crossed Kazuya's face. He could so vividly recall a young Kazuya strutting around town and capturing every girl's attention in his dark blue Levi's, converse sneakers, and leather jacket. His hair was (just as it was now) slicked back giving him the label of a greaser even though he seemed more of a soc. Lei could call to mind all the times he'd watched Jun, complete with her wide sleeved tribal dresses, get onto the back of Kazuya's motorcycle and drive off only to return hours later being half carried and half dragged by Kazuya, high and partially drunk.

"My father never approved of the motorcycle…or the music I like back then,"

Lei almost choked on the wine he was tentatively sipping as the taboo subject of music came up. "You were into a lot of it even after you got hitched,"

Kazuya nodded, cutting slowly through the steak on his plate. "Robert Johnson, Elvis, the Four Tops, Bobby Darin, and the first musician I got my son into, Buddy Holly,"

"The devil's music," Lei added jokingly. "And I still have your Chuck Berry album."

Kazuya paused and looked up at Lei with a raised brow. "I don't remember ever lending you my albums," he replied, not in an accusing way, but in a mild confused one.

Lei mentally slapped himself. He'd been trying to avoid bringing up the subject ever since he entered the house, yet it seemed inevitable. He'd been thinking about her all night anyway. "Jun lent it to me," he answered softly. It was a wonder Kazuya heard him at all. "She told me to listen to Rollover Beethoven and Johnny B. Good just before she…. well…."

The invisible veil of calm that had been over Kazuya's face since Lei arrived lifted. The charade was up.

"I was wondering where that record went…"

His façade was destroyed. Lei stood up. "Let's end the game of old friends reunited, Kazuya," he said in an unyielding, yet shaky voice. "You must know why I'm really here despite the meeting yesterday."

Kazuya sat back against the chair and crossed his legs, tracing his chin with his hand. "The world's worst cover up. Do you honestly believe that I still have it?"

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Jin rubbed his wrist, which was still slightly sore from his failed attempt at the Chinese Fire Drill moments ago. Hwoarang had gone to burn rubber faster than he would have playing chicken. He doubted Hwoarang would be stupid enough to take Xiao to his mother's old stash. He couldn't be so insensitive about Jin's feelings. Sure there were exchanged comments about Jin being a Panty Waist and Hwoarang being a flake, but neither actually meant it; at least Jin didn't. 

Hwoarang glanced nervously into the review mirror, both monitoring Xiao's movements and looking out for any of the patrolling fuzz.

Jin glanced into the back seat in annoyance. Xiaoyu was hanging halfway out the window, part of her frilly shirt caught onto the lock on the door, which was sticking out, unlocked. She seemed to be singing—scratch that—screaming… that summer's national anthem: Light My Fire; by those Doors of perception. That weird ass band from L.A. with that stud, Jim Morrison, as front man. Everyone seemed to love them. Bedsides yanking Xiao back into the car before she hurt herself, he wished she'd sing San Francisco instead.

He'd rather hear about flower children any day.

"Lock the doors," he murmured to Hwoarang. "She's bound to end up swinging the door open while you're pushing on the gas pedal,"

Hwoarang complied silently. He seemed uncomfortable with making eye contact with him. And Jin could see why as they pulled up to the Mishima mansion.

"You really wanna jump bad with me, don't cha?"

Instead of responding, Hwoarang shut off the engine and stepped out, slamming the driver's door soundly. From his pocket, he withdrew a packet of cigarettes. Pulling out his lighter, he nervously lit one and took a long drag.

"Big place," Xiao commented, breaking the uneasy silence between Jin and Hwoarang. She jerked her thumb in the mansion's direction. "Do tell… are we here to stare at it or does Jack the Ripper reside inside?"

Hwoarang began down the path. "Justice Wargrave awaits you within," he replied.

In frustration, Jin kicked the side Hwoarang's car, leaving perhaps a sizable dent. He didn't bother to check. Surprisingly, Hwoarang didn't turn around viciously to tell him he'd have to pay for any damages done. Jin caught up with Hwoarang just as Xiao looked back at the car, slightly disturbed, saying: "I guess that wasn't your daddy's car."

"You're lucky I don't pound you now," Jin whispered loudly to Hwoarang. Hwoarang merely shook the ash off the end of his cigarette as they approached the front door. "Why're you doing this, man?" he asked, exasperated.

Hwoarang let Xiao in ahead of them and waited until she was well in front of them, admiring the house, before he shut the door. He grabbed tight to Jin's sleeve and yanked him down to level with himself. "Tell me honestly, brother man… what do you know about that girl?"

Jin frowned and pulled himself away from his friend's grip. "Is there something I _should_ know?" he asked uncertainly. There was a smug, self-satisfied look on Hwoarang's face. Jin hated to admit it, but… it worried him.

Hwoarang crushed out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray as they made their way down the hall. "Realizing your obsession with her… I did my homework," as he spoke, smoke traveled slowly from his mouth. "Like I told you, man, she's a junkie. Every queer, alcoholic, and druggie around knows her. Though not in a pleasant way, I might add."

Jin stared after him as Hwoarang called to Xiao to make a left. "What are you saying?"

"Right, then straight down the hall!" He turned back to Jin, a new, unlit cigarette in his mouth. The smug look was gone. He followed Xiao hurriedly, and then opened the far door on the left.

Jin stiffened. He hadn't been in that room in four years, since his mother's death. At the beginning, he'd constantly been there. Lying on the floor and trying to find his mother's lingering spirit; overjoyed whenever he saw a butterfly float past the heavily draped windows. His father moved out of that wing the night his mother passed away.

Maids cleaned the house every week. The room was spotless, yet dark and had a foreboding feeling about it.

When Jin followed them into the room, Hwoarang was already kneeling down on the floor by his mother's old vanity mirror. He cursed. Jin smirked and strode to Hwoarang's side. Xiao lingered behind, starring into the closet door mirror. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, flaunting her prettiness. She spun lightly on her heels so that her image in the mirror appeared from behind with her neck craning to see herself. Jin slung an arm around his friend's shoulders. "Find anything?"

"Is it there?" Xiao suddenly called.

"What'd you do with it, man?" Hwoarang growled, his voice slightly above a whisper.

Jin shrugged. "My old man must've gotten rid of it. I never used it,"

"No…wait… false bottom, remember?" Jin sighed. He was hoping Hwoarang _wouldn't_ remember.

"Red?" Xiao approached them from behind. There was a tinkle of her necklaces clinking together, then the sound of perhaps a snap or floorboard squeaking; Jin didn't stop to make out the sounds.

"It's all here," Hwoarang answered tightly. "But it's old… so…"

He trailed off. Jin couldn't blame him. He too froze at the cool kiss of a gun at the back of his neck. The pair slowly tried to turn their heads to look at the girl behind them. Was she that desperate? No wonder none of the low lives liked her.

Oh, damn.

She pulled out a badge from her pocket. The snap was a gun. Damn it. She was a cop? "You two have been found in the possession of illegal drugs. Kazama, I'm willing to let you off since you didn't seem to be too involved, but Red, you're coming with me."

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Thanks to all the people who've stuck with this story so far! I feel it going downhill, but I'm overjoyed that they're people who do like it. I'm sorry I haven't been replying. There's so much to do and such little time to comply... 


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